Surgam Identitem
by Cross-Flame
Summary: "Don't ever tell me not to save you. I'm not all-powerful. I am not able to save everyone. But... even so, I want to save you." (A Madoka Magica-style AU.)


**This is a Madoka Magica-style AU. If you don't get how some things happen, it's either you watch the said anime, wiki it, or read the in-a-nutshell of its basic plot (which I will use at least) here:**

 **-certain girls are chosen by this "character" to become magical girls in exchange for making a wish of anything, however logic-defying it may be.**

 **-the powers that these magical girls they obtain are usually specific to that wish (ie wish for a pianist as your boyfriend and you'll get some musical-related power)**

 **-focuses on why you made the wish, not what you fight as a magical girl. Or making a wish at all.**

 **-in this AU Akane is (obviously) the magical girl in this scenario, and Kogami is... *role explained in story***

 **Enjoy, and I hope I tackle this type of writing style consistently...**

* * *

 **Prologue**

She feels sentiment in the pistol she effortlessly points with.

It may have been the thirst refilled when the bullets ricocheted the walls, or the thrill felt when the trigger was pulled. It could have been the passion of her feet dancing to the gunfire, willing to do sprints and backflips or maybe even anything above that.

But there was no sentiment in any of the three, she knew. She did not feel a little girl's completeness when she was with her doll. She didn't feel a spouse's gleeful contentment as their wedding ring proudly gleamed on their finger. It wasn't shooting with that gun that made her feel enthusiastic, as she was not a serial killer devoid of true ambition. Her lips lined into a smirk as she realized…

...It was the reason she shot with it.

But she couldn't think of that reason now, for that reason was her pressure point. She wouldn't deny the fact that everyone — including herself — had their own weaknesses, and she most definitely won't lie that that hers was destructive; on many occasions that such disruption occurred, she described herself as an exiled fugitive drawn to the scent of fresh blood on a knight's sword. In other words, she was fighting for a cause, and to even think sentimentally of this cause would lead to a disgraceful shortcoming.

If it meant seeing him again, she would pay and make her emotions a martyr.

Feelings are man's mascot. They give him color, they flesh him out. Feelings are incarnations, and feelings are the only things that cannot feel, for they embody everything felt; everything human would cease to exist without them. War sprouts from disagreement, revenge, power. Love sprouts from trust, happiness, and personality — with personality being a unique combination of emotions, making it the biggest feeling one could ever accept that made man truly alive.

She had come to realize her personality consisted of only one feeling: fear.

She bit her lip at this, eyebrows creased as she narrowly missed another speedy bullet. Her pulse did not elevate at this however; her face showed no sign of emotion either, save for a split second of frustration. She wasn't at all afraid — not of their bloodthirsty clash, at least. Once you've settled in on a the battlefield, it doesn't get as exciting over time.

And it was such that she realized that these fights were no longer the enthralling chess matches between hunter and prey to her; it was just a daily visit to the grocery, with her being the annoyed customer who forgot to buy carrots for the stew to be cooked.

Nowadays, she lost interest in her role as hypothetical soldier. But the soldier wasn't scared of dying, of the people dying around him; he was afraid of the feelings that came with such deaths: empathy.

Heroes did not need that, but they all had it. It was their standard weakness. It was like fire needing to be weak to water; they could've been superior if they had believed so. But water tames them of its restless internal wars too, as did empathy give heroes a reason to fight.

As she ran away once more from the flurry of bullets, she believed she was the fire that was very thirsty.


End file.
